


steal the things I know

by extasiswings



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Softness, post-crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29164347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: "At least no one's shooting at us, right?"[Or: Watching Hen's helicopter crash affects Eddie more than he anticipates.  Buck is there to help.]
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 47
Kudos: 506





	steal the things I know

_"Diaz! I’m out of ammo!"_

_"ETA six minutes."_

_"We don’t have six minutes."_

_Bullets flying, the sound of gunfire popping in his ears—but then, no, he’s back on the transport, alarms blaring, falling, falling, falling out of the sky—_

_He’s trapped and it’s burning all around, hot, twisted, sharp metal—he scrambles over to the patient—_

_Hen. Burned and coated with ash, she coughs and tips her head as she looks at him._

_"At least no one’s shooting at us, right Eddie?"_

“Eddie?”

“Eddie.”

Eddie jerks awake, his head whipping around as his heart pounds, only to see Buck, close by with his hands raised, palms open as if he had been touching him and just pulled back. Eddie’s mouth is dry, and there’s a burn in the back of his throat like he might be sick, but he swallows hard to get himself under control as he takes in his surroundings.

They’re in the truck, he reminds himself, the surroundings familiar. He and Buck are alone, Hen up front driving—when Eddie looks at his watch, he realizes it’s only about halfway into her most recent driving shift and they still have at least another five hours before they get back to LA. Despite the darkness of the interior, Buck’s face—and specifically the concern written across it—is clear.

“It’s just me,” Buck says quietly. “Sorry, I—I wasn’t sure whether it was right to wake you up or not, but it didn’t seem like—you were sort of twitching? And you made this sound—”

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures. “It was—yeah. Um, thank you.”

His voice is raspy and there’s a cold sweat drying on his skin that makes him feel somehow dirtier and more uncomfortable than when he’d been in the field covered in soot. At home, or even at the station, he would get up in a situation like this. Would take a shower or work out until his hands stopped shaking. But he doesn’t have those options here, trapped in a moving vehicle. Is flayed open and exposed, a heady cocktail of fight-or-flight chemicals buzzing under his skin as the echoes of alarm bells and gunshots fade from his ears and his best friend looks at him like he’s a basket case—

No, that’s not fair. Buck’s looking at him the way he would look at any of them he was worried about, because Buck is a good person with a big heart. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just naked concern, and Eddie tries to remember that as he sets his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands, blowing out a shaky breath.

“Hey, Hen?” Buck calls, raising his voice. “Can we make a stop? I need to pee. Sorry, should have gone earlier.”

“You’re lucky I love you, Buckley,” she calls back. “And that we’re not totally in the middle of nowhere. There should be a rest stop at the next exit, I’ll turn off there.”

“Thanks.”

Eddie presses the heel of his hands to his eyes for a moment before dropping them, rolls his head on his neck to work out some of the tension in his muscles before finally looking back at Buck.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, despite the relief that floods him at the thought of escaping the confined space for even a few minutes, getting the chance to stretch his legs and breathe and maybe even splash some water on his face.

“Yes, I did,” Buck replies, his voice equally low. “Besides, you would have done it for me.”

“Sure, but I wouldn’t have needed to do it for you,” Eddie shoots back, frustration heavy on his tongue. “You can fall asleep on a road trip without worrying about—”

He cuts himself off and sighs. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m—fuck.”

“I’ve been fine,” he insists, because it feels important that he make Buck understand that. That he’s capable, that he has himself together.

He always needs to have himself together.

“I had a couple bad weeks after everything with the well last year, but I bounced back. It’s not—this doesn’t happen that often, I don’t know why—”

“Eddie, I don’t even know what _this_ is,” Buck says. He reaches out—stops, hesitating before his hand makes contact with Eddie’s shoulder, his eyes flicking up to search Eddie’s before finally closing the rest of the distance. It’s instinct to flinch from the touch, but Eddie tamps down on the impulse, instead focusing on the weight and heat of Buck’s hand pressing down, grounding, anchoring. 

“So you had a bad dream,” he continues, shrugging. “Everyone does. The other day I woke up panicked because I dreamt I was kidnapped by a supervillain who pulled all of my teeth out. It happens. Plus, I still—” 

Buck looks down and swallows hard. “I still dream about the tsunami. Sometimes. And about being trapped under the truck. And it never matters how either of those things actually turned out because in the dreams—nightmares—I always lose. Christopher. My leg. Brains can be assholes. But it’s not—you had a bad dream. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Alright, boys, we’re here,” Hen calls as the truck rolls to a stop. “Try to make it quick? I’d like to at least try to make it back in time to sleep a few hours in my own bed before my afternoon class.” 

“You’re the best, Hen,” Buck replies. Eddie pushes himself up and opens the door to climb out. Even just standing on solid ground helps—he sucks in several breaths of fresh air, letting each one out slowly. The stars are bright and clear against the ink-black sky, the rest stop far enough from any major cities or the wildfire that light pollution or smoke don’t dim their shine. Buck’s hand brushes against Eddie’s back as he climbs out of the truck as well, a gentle, casual thing that feels more like habit than a deliberate touch. A subtle, familiar ghost that whispers _I’m here_ , _behind_ , _hello_.

Eddie doesn’t feel the urge to flinch away from that touch. 

When Buck starts off in the direction of the restrooms, Eddie pushes off the truck and follows. 

“I got my silver star after my platoon’s medical transport helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan,” he admits a few minutes later, after he washes his hands and splashes water on his face for good measure. “We crashed, I got almost everyone out of the wreckage. We took heavy fire...I really thought I was gonna die that night. Wound up with three bullet wounds and a medal and a hell of a lot of guilt over the one guy who didn’t make it home.”

“And Hen was in a helicopter crash yesterday,” Buck fills in. “That you watched happen.” 

Eddie sighs. “And Hen was in a helicopter crash yesterday, yeah,” he admits. “I didn’t think—we were doing search and rescue in a wildfire, it wasn’t a battlefield, we weren’t getting shot at, and she was _fine_. She is. Fine. And _I’m_ fine. There’s no reason—”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m _fine_ ,” he repeats.

Buck goes quiet for a moment, catching his lower lip between his teeth. And then he says—

“I’m in therapy.” His tongue sweeps out and wets his lips. “I’m fine, too. But I’m in therapy. Because I realized that I didn’t want to settle for fine. And also that I could be...more fine. Finer. Finest.”

“Do you think that’s something I should be ashamed of?” He asks.

“Of course not,” Eddie says, his stomach dropping at the very thought. “I would never think—no, Buck that’s great—if it’s helping, I’m happy for you.” 

“Then why are you ashamed of yourself just because your _fine_ isn’t _perfect_?”

“I—” Words catch in Eddie’s throat as he squirms at the logic. He doesn’t think _because it’s me_ is a response that’s going to fly, but that’s all that comes to mind. And maybe that means Buck has a point.

Buck takes a step closer, closing the distance between them. His hand curves around the side of Eddie’s neck, thumb pressing ever so lightly under Eddie’s chin to tip his head up. The look in his eyes is soft and makes Eddie feel exposed in an entirely different way than he had in the truck. But he doesn’t think he dislikes the feeling.

“You went through hell and you survived,” Buck says quietly. “So you have a few scars. You never have to be ashamed of that. Especially not in front of me.”

Eddie shudders out a breath and leans in, closing his eyes as he drops his head to Buck’s shoulder. Buck adjusts to wrap his arms around him, holding tight, and they stand there embracing for a long moment as the remaining tension bleeds from Eddie’s shoulders. 

“Why did I hear TK telling you he’s in a serious relationship before we left?” Eddie asks once he feels steady enough to pull away.

Buck’s cheeks go pink as he laughs. “Uh—well. I think he thought I was coming onto him?”

Eddie bites his cheek to keep from smiling. “Were you? I guess he’s okay...if that’s the kind of look you’re into.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “You know there was only one person there I wanted to flirt with.”

“Marjan?” Eddie offers, and the eyeroll becomes an exasperated stare.

“I agreed to glacially slow, not nonexistent,” Buck points out, stepping in and leaning in and—

Eddie’s fingers curl into the front of Buck’s shirt as Buck’s mouth ghosts over his, using to grip to pull him down into a proper kiss.

“If he had stuck around long enough for me to get over my surprise, I would have told him I was spoken for,” Buck adds, a little breathless when he steps back. 

“Glacially slow or not?”

“Glacially slow or not.” Buck’s lips curve up as he laces their fingers. “I told you months ago I didn’t mind waiting. I’m in this. However long it takes.”

Eddie squeezes his hand. 

“Thank you,” he says. And there are so many things that could be meant by that, he’s not even sure he can name them all. But Buck seems to get it anyway.

“Come on. Let’s go back.”

“Let’s go _home_ ,” Eddie adds. Their hands slide apart as they leave the restroom, but Eddie still feels Buck’s warmth sinking into his skin, like sunlight chasing away shadows. And as he climbs back into the truck, he thinks that maybe Buck’s right. Maybe he could be more than _fine_. Maybe admitting that isn’t a bad thing.

When he falls asleep again, he doesn’t dream.


End file.
